Page 4 of With All My Haunted Heart

The continual use of we makes me nervous, but I don’t press. I just hope he didn’t pair his rebound business with a rebound boyfriend. “And what can I do for Xander Owens, owner of…what are you calling this place?”

“Louie and I are debating the name, but I’m pulling for Midnight Manor. It’s got a ring to it, right? But before we can open, we also need your special skill set.”

“Louie?” That nervous feeling is growing again, and the blue quartz tumbles from my hands onto the desk.

Xander raises one eyebrow at me, an impressive feat I’ve never been able to duplicate. “My childhood best friend? The one who lived next door?”

Old memories—long college nights spent talking about our families and friends, our theories on life and magic and romance—surface to the forefront of my mind. “Of course. Tree-climbing, movie-marathoning, alcohol-sneaking Louie.” I guess there are worse rebound relationships than a longtime friend. And hell, maybe they aren’t dating at all. This could be a thoughtfully considered business decision between two capable adults.

Hopefully.

To distract from my forced smile, I draw the celebration sigil I created for Xander when he got his first internship. A series of miniature fireworks erupt above my palm. It’s showy magic, the kind my family hates, but the smile it brings Xander is worth it. “Professional witch, at your service. What do you need?”

“I’d like you to check the manor for ghosts.”

“Easy peasy.”

Xander reaches for his phone. “What’re you charging these days?”

“For you? Nothing.” I shake my head vehemently against the idea of charging him. Yes, I need the money. Yes, things are starting to feel desperate, but I’m not going to balance my books by charging my best friend for a service I could do in my sleep. Xander is the whole reason I have this business. He took me in when my parents disowned me five years ago, then let me crash on his couch and encouraged me to turn the magic that my parents despised—a long list, since they consider anything other than healing to be “beneath” our family’s status—into a viable business.

“I’m not looking for a handout, Pip.”

“It’s not a handout,” I insist. “I owe you for everything you’ve done for me. Let me return the favor.”

But Xander shakes his head, his expression uncharacteristically stern. “Louie will never accept free services. Besides, we have investors. It’s not really my money, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He softens his words with a smile. “It’s a win-win. You get paid. I get a tax write-off.”

Before I can come up with a counterargument—hell, before I can decide if I want to come up with one—Dea appears in the doorway. “We accept. There’s an invoice in your email, Xan. It includes a travel surcharge since Oak Spires is outside our usual jurisdiction.”

Xander laughs. “Now that is how you do business.” He punches a few buttons on his phone, and the telltale ping of money hitting the business bank account sounds on my computer.

“Fine. But I’m buying the first round of drinks tonight.”

“Darlin’, you can buy all night.”

Two rounds deep, I’m finally brave enough to broach the topic that’s been bothering me since Xander’s arrival.

Xan and I are squeezed into a wooden booth, the table overstuffed with giant plates of loaded fries, supremely spicy chicken wings, and one lone mozzarella stick that we’re all—currently—too polite to claim as our own. Deanna is at the bar grabbing the next round of drinks on my tab.

“How are you really?” I lean into Xander’s side, his solid warmth grounding me in a way that’s hard to explain. No matter how much time we spend apart, no matter how busy we get with our own lives, as soon as we’re in the same room, we fall back into perfect step. College best friends turned roommates turned platonic queer soulmates.

Which is how I know he’s gearing up to lie before he says a word. A ripple of tension cords down his arm where it’s pressed against mine. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know, adjusting to single life. Launching a new business venture. Having investors…invested in how you run everything.”

“Unless you’re willing to hex the cheating sack of shit who pretended to be the love of my life, we can skip the Barrett breakdown.”

“That good, huh?” I reach for Xander’s hand and trace my fingers across his knuckles. “Do you want me to…?”

He nods, his lips pressed tight and his Adam’s apple bobbing. Mixing magic and alcohol isn’t the wisest move, but the sigils I’m about to trace across his skin are simple enough that it won’t matter. I take a deep breath and invite magic to flow through me, my chest filling with the gentle thrum of power that moves to my fingertips.

Xander hums a pleasant note to himself. “Your hands always get so warm when you do magic.”

“Hold still,” I instruct, resting his right palm against my left. He wiggles in his seat to settle in before playing statue. The calming sigil I trace along the back of his hand ripples through him like a wave. He sighs as it dulls the sharp edges of his grief, and I quickly follow with a second sigil, this one wrapping him in a tight hug of love and compassion and a sense of home.

When I’m done, he leans heavily against the back of the booth, eyelids tipping closed. “You’re magic, Pip, you know that?”

“It has occurred to me, yes.”